I love writers because I love words and the potential to ride them vicariously throughout the world. I am helplessly romanticized by the sometimes clever use of written and spoken language. I love writers because we have a unique appreciation of life, not unlike all artist, but unique in our expression.
It takes time and astute attention to both the spoken and written word in order to catch that which is easily missed. We writers catch poetry as it is happening. We observe the romance of language and give a great deal of attention to the observation of human beings, of animals and of nature. Writers are in tune with life.
Like falling in love, creating a book is not something that just happens. It is the result of a latent need that perfectly unites us to the world, pulling us from an abyss of conventional living and into a world of discovery. We are in a constant state of change...moving from something to something. Every artistic discipline requires this hybrid nature, and for every discipline there is an opposing side, the side that does not believe...that does not create and does not live in the present.
The other side of romance is naturally, banal. To a romantic a flower is enchanting. To the banal the flower is a colorful plant that will fray and die. The romantic appreciates a moment in time. She loves the present moment for whatever it presents: a blooming flower. The banal is not moved by the present because his perspective is of the future: the plant will die, or of the past because it was just a bud or just a seed.
He does not smell the flowers; he smells dead pedals.
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